


Sunday Morning's Gold

by AmarieMelody



Series: The WinterFalcon Marriage Chronicles [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bottom!Sam, Domestic Avengers, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Married Couple, SamBucky married fic, Sambucky Big Bang 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26766085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmarieMelody/pseuds/AmarieMelody
Summary: Sam and Bucky make good, slow morning love on the morrow of their 5th anniversary celebration.Done for the SamBucky Big Bang 2020!!Long-awaited Winterfalcon fluff, humor, and more smut.
Relationships: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes
Series: The WinterFalcon Marriage Chronicles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/605815
Comments: 20
Kudos: 68





	Sunday Morning's Gold

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the SamBucky 2020 Big Bang! So excited to _finally_ post this now!!
> 
> Gracious me, it's truly been _forever_ writing SamBucky (and writing in general, really) and I'm glad that this fandom event got me back into writing this. This is pretty late, but again I'm still so glad to finally get this out!! 
> 
> I hope you all like and enjoy and, as always, please lemme know what you think!
> 
> Art made lovingly by my Big Bang partner, 343enderspark!!

The whole of their goddamn bedroom is a goddamn mess.

It is a mess that explodes primarily from their luggage.

Their luggage which they took with them stepping onto their anniversary cruise and which they took with them stepping off their anniversary cruise.

Clothes make up most of the mess. Clothes, clothes, _clothes_. Exploded out of their luggage; exploded all over the room. Dirty clothes that were absolutely halfway to the designated dirty clothes pile have been abandoned wherever they lay. Sam’s wrinkled, chlorine-smelling bright red swim trunks are draped over the side of a dresser; Bucky’s favorite, sweat-soaked black muscle shirt is hanging over the edge of the armchair. Meanwhile Bucky’s stark white button-down with the steak sauce stain lays rumpled and spread out on the floor not far from the side of the bed; Sam’s khaki pants, also sporting the steak sauce stain, lay in a crumpled up heap on the other side of the bed.

Right at the door of their adjacent bathroom sits the pile of dirty clothes they’d been in the middle of moving to the hamper. The dirty pile holds everything from their spare swim trunks; socks; underwear; shirts; pants; ties; and more underwear. And not two items are sorted by color to get ready to go into the washing machine.

Faring not much better are clean clothes that they either bought on the cruise or were gifted at their surprise anniversary party. Every last article of clothing either needs their tags removed; needs to get taken out of their boxes and/or bags; needs to be pulled off their hangers; and/or needs to actually be tried the fuck on. A boxset of 4 Armani blue-and-silver striped ties are still in their case and hang haphazardly over one of their nightstands. Two new pairs of the softest, fluffiest, cushiest house slippers are still in their box and sit on the other nightstand.

And there are flowers all over their room-more flowers than they ever anticipated receiving for their anniversary. Tulips and begonias bloom in their respective vases at the base of their window sill; roses and carnations flourish in their respective cellophane wraps at the base of another window’s sill. A single vase of bright yellow daisies rest in the middle of a dresser. Damn near an army of soft pink roses in more cellophane take up all the space atop one of their suitcases on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Trinkets and souvenirs, some bought and some gifted, are a close 2nd to the flowers in the mess they add. On one of the dressers, right next to Sam’s red swim trunks, are a set of Tiffany wine glasses engraved with _“Mr. and Mr. Wilson-Barnes”_ in smooth, flawless cursive. Two cases, each holding a rose gold Rolex, share space on the dresser holding Sam’s swim trunks. A dainty, aromatic gift basket of sauvignon wines and cheese sticks out of a suitcase. Sticking out of another suitcase is a kitty-themed calendar with a kitty-themed notepad and pens.

Not far behind in making up a 3rd of the mess in the room are a variety of candies and cookies. Again, some bought and some gifted. Decorative box sets and bags and more box sets litter the space. There’s a huge, heart-shaped boxset of Hershey’s heart-shaped dark chocolates on the nightstand with the Armani ties; on the little day bed right up against one of the windows lays macadamia cookies wrapped up in a green gift box topped with a silver bow; and a massive Ghirardelli gift basket takes up space next to the armchair. They at least managed to get the macaroons in the freezer and the gourmet chocolate chip cookie dough in the fridge.

There are more flowers.

And completing the mess is none other than the 2 married men deeply asleep in the bed. Sam lays sprawled out on his stomach, face partially mashed into their many pillows and arms spread out. One arm lays loose on top of the messy covers while the other is thrown over Bucky’s chest, the hand of that arm loosely curled around Bucky’s metal shoulder. His leg is thrown over his husband’s.

Bucky lays sprawled out on his back and is snoring softly. His hair is as mussed and messy as ever against the pillows. One of his legs hangs out of the covers and over the side of the bed, while his other leg stays entwined with Sam’s. Squished in-between their bodies is his flesh arm as his metal arm cradles Sam’s arm across his chest.

They’re both naked as the day they were born. Dried, sticky white mess generously covers the lower parts of their bodies; dried, dewy sweat generously covers all of their bodies. Neither nightmares nor worries plagued them last night. As soon as they finished making love for the last time they fell deeply asleep, close and entwined together as they are now.

Bucky is the first to come to consciousness, the first to awaken.

The first thing he feels before he even opens his eyes is Sam’s arm across his chest and his metal arm holding it in place. When he does open his eyes, he blinks blearily at the early morning sun. The bright, golden rays peek through their bedroom’s curtains and falls in shafts of light across their disheveled king-sized bed. Bucky keeps blinking in the light even as he gently squeezes Sam’s hand on his chest.

He stays on his back but shifts in the bed, lets his joints pop and his muscles stretch. His eyes are bleary still as they take in the mess all around them. Goddamn, it’ll…likely take the whole rest of the weekend to truly clean up and organize all this shit.

They just got back home last night from celebrating their 5th anniversary.

Two years before, as they were celebrating their 3rd anniversary by going to the mountains, they’d bickered and debated and bickered some more on what very, very special thing they’d do for the big # 5.

“Who the hell thought to divide up important anniversaries by fives?” Bucky asked as they both looked over the majestic mountain range from their hotel room’s balcony. He knocked back some more of his Long island iced tea.

“I have no idea”, Sam replied as nursed his strawberry-and-lime mojito. He shifted his feet in his husband’s lap and leaned farther back in his chair. “But if I’ve been puttin’ up with your sorry ass for that long, I say it can’t hurt to honor it.”

“Ditto, Wilson. Ditto. So…Disneyland with the nieces and nephews again…?”

“Hmm…it‘s a probability, but maybe for the 5th it should be something with just us. We’ll take the kids camping again during the fall, though.” Sam purses his lips. “How about…a belated ski trip?”

Bucky shakes his head. He absentmindedly massages Sam’s ankle with his free hand. “Naw, that’d be mountains all over again. So…Hawaii?”

“Cliché. Paris?”

“…What’d you just say about cliché?”

Back and forth, back and forth they went. Eventually they settled on a 7-day cruise to Italy. It was a _blast_. They dined. Fucked. Swam. Drank. Went sight-seeing. Snapped photo after photo after photo. Explored. Laughed. Played. Fucked. Shopped. Shopped some more. Danced. Met and befriended new people. Ate authentic Italian pasta. Fucked. Drank authentic Italian coffee and wine.

And when their 7 days were over and they touched down at the airport, they were both on cloud nine. That cloud didn’t falter one bit even when Nick Fury messaged them that there was urgent business at the Avengers Tower. Upon arrival, it turned out that that “urgent business” was a surprise anniversary party for them. It included Sam’s whole family and friends; each and every one of the Avengers; a giant, 5-tier marble ice cream cake with vanilla frosting; and enough music, games, and alcohol to be comfortable and festive. Hence the gifts alongside their purchases.

It was well past midnight when they got home exhausted as hell but happy as heaven. They…both agreed to take a quick shower before unpacking and cleaning up as much of their heavy ass luggage as they could before they went to sleep. They managed perfectly well with the shower and they were about a…third of the way on starting to unpack and clean.

But…

It started while Sam was bent over one of their suitcases to take out their gift basket of sauvignon wines and cheese and Bucky was lugging their pile of dirty laundry to the bathroom. They both stopped at the same time. Looked at each other the same time. Walked across the room to each other at the same time.

Realized that it really, truly, _honestly_ had been 5 years since Bucky got on a shaky knee and Sam said a tearful yes.

They’d really, truly been diligent in unpacking and cleaning up. They really had.

But they couldn’t get to each other’s lips fast enough, couldn’t get each other’s clothes off fast enough.

As they abandoned their unpacking and let shit land wherever it would land and started to make love time after time, they’d ribbed and snarked at each other in their usual way.

_Five years of you changing my favorite channel, Wilson…_

_Five years of you drinking my orange juice, Barnes…_

_Five years of you waking me up for goddamned pancakes…_

_Five years of you out-eating me in restaurants with that super soldier appetite…_

_Five years of you using all the damn fabric softener in a week…_

_Five years of you stinking up the holy hell out of my bathrooms…_

_Five years of…five years…_

They made love about 4 times. Once with Sam held high up against the wall by Bucky. Once again on the floor, on the way to the bed with Bucky all but pounding Sam into their plush carpet. And twice more in the bed with Sam riding Bucky into the mattress. And when they were both beyond satiated and spent, they collapsed together in bed in a sweaty, tangled heap and laid as such ever since.

Bucky turns away from the post-vacation tornado of their bedroom to look at one of his favorite things in the world: Sam’s face first thing in the morning.

Sam’s face is turned towards him and still flush against the pillow. His face is as gorgeous in his sleep as in his waking moments. There’s a robust and rosy flush underlying the deep rich brown of his skin. Those long, downy eyelashes of his flutter against his cheeks. He breathes slow, breathes deep.

And Sam is golden in the early morning sun. Golden and radiant even in sleep.

He’s Sunday morning’s gold.

Bucky slowly lifts his metal hand from where it was clutching Sam’s lax one on his chest to caress his face. He rubs his thumb back and forth over Sam’s jaw. The skin right above his goatee is soft and supple as a skein of silk.

Dear god, Bucky knows he wore both of them the hell out last night. But just the feeling of Sam’s smooth skin makes Bucky tent under the covers in no time. Five years has dampened not one ounce of his desire for his husband.

He sighs deep through his nose and snuggles closer to the other man. Presses a kiss, slow and languid, to Sam’s soft lips. As he presses his lips against Sam’s, his metal hand travels tenderly up his arm. Sam stays asleep even as Bucky moves his lips against his. He slips his fingers up muscles that are finely toned even while relaxed.

His fingers soon curve over the smoothness of Sam’s shoulder to gently caress Sam’s back. It’s from years and years of operating the mechanical wings as the Falcon that make the muscles underneath as heavy and powerful as solid steel cables. But the skin atop is every bit as silky as the rest of Sam and sports an extra coat of smooth, dewy dried sweat from last night. The feel of that dewiness shoots straight down to Bucky’s cock, engorging it with more blood. He runs his hand down the length of Sam’s spine and then back up to his neck, which he massages in small, deep circles.

Bucky leaves Sam’s lips to nuzzle his nose with his. He soon returns to kissing Sam’s pliant mouth. It’s not but a few seconds before Bucky feels Sam’s lips moving against his. Bucky’s eyes flip open and he pulls away, an apology for waking his husband bubbling up in his throat.

But when Sam’s eyes flip open there’s only the deepest love and affection in those deep brown irises. The early morning sun’s golden rays splash into that perfect brown and re-create a glorious sunrise all its own. Bucky can only gaze with awe and wonder into his husband’s eyes.

Sam grins back at him. That gap in-between his teeth is adorable as ever and those bright white teeth shine in the early morning sun. His hand lifts from grasping Bucky’s metal shoulder to cradle Bucky’s jaw just as Bucky had done his. He presses those smiling lips to Bucky’s and it’s not a few more seconds before one of them opens their mouth to the other and then their tongues are entangled.

Bucky’s erection rises until the throbbing, leaking head is wedged between the sheets and his abs, creating a mess anew on his stomach. Heart pounding in his chest, his metal hand takes Sam’s hand off his face and guides it down to rest on his chest. He keeps his lips glued to Sam’s as he presses Sam’s hand to the center of his chest, right so he can feel his heart beating. Sam splays his fingers over his husband’s heart beat and massages his sternum.

Warmth spreads and suffuses through Bucky from the point of Sam’s fingers on his chest. His heart only pounds faster as he guides Sam’s hand even further down his chest, down his abs, down, down, down…

Down to the throbbing flesh of his shaft, where he places Sam’s open palm.

_May I?_

Sam’s body is loose with faint aching and languid with satisfaction from making love with his husband 4 times the night before. By all accounts, he should want nothing more than to pull his hand away from the blazing heat of Bucky’s hardness, simply lie still next to Bucky, and fall back asleep. And there’s no question that Bucky will hear his “no” and follow suit.

But Sam can feel that great artery that runs along the length of Bucky’s shaft pulse, pulse, _pulse_ against his hand. There’s the lingering mess of last night’s exploits on Bucky’s cock-a congealing mix of leftover ejaculate, lube, and more ejaculate. Sam lets his hand run down the messiness and the action brings out a shudder in Bucky that ripples all throughout his frame, though he otherwise stays still in Sam’s hand. Sam feels in real time more blood filling and engorging his husband’s cock until he’s rock hard and further tenting the sheets.

An answering ripple goes through Sam’s body and they break away from the kiss for air. He brings his hand up to massage Bucky’s leaking head with his thumb. Even after 5 years of marriage Sam still adores the way Bucky leaks pre-cum like a faucet even as Bucky still works on not being self-conscious about it. Sam watches Bucky’s eyes drift close and his Adam’s apple bob as he works his thumb over and over the weeping head.

It’s not long before Bucky gyrates his hips into Sam’s palm. But Sam teases mercilessly by slipping his hand back down Bucky’s shaft. This time, he circles his hand down and around to grasp Bucky’s balls. They’ve grown hard and heavy with arousal and drawn tight up against his body. His husband’s body jerks against his hand even before he massages him in slow, tight circles.

And now Sam’s own erection is blossoming under the sheets, creating its own tent.

He kisses Bucky deeply and wraps his hand back around Bucky’s shaft. Gives it a warm, firm squeeze.

 _Yes_.

Bucky kisses him back with fervent tenderness. Even as Bucky locks lips and tongue with him he still gently takes Sam’s hand off of him, likely so that he doesn’t cum first. Sam’s heart picks up in anticipation as he slides his leg even further over Bucky’s, prepared to straddle him again for yet another ride atop him.

But Bucky, still gentle as ever, places a halting hand on Sam’s knee. He pulls away from their kiss with a _smwuah_.

“Mmm-mm, baby”, Bucky says, voice deep and gravelly with sleep. That Brooklyn is strong this morning. “You jus’ roll over for me an’ relax. I got th’rest…”

Sam can’t help but give a sleepy, lopsided grin and nod. “‘M’kay, hon.”

Their mussed sheets rustle and their strewn pillows whisper as they move, slow and unhurried in sleep but still with desire for each other. Sam rolls off his husband and onto his back and Bucky scoots closer and then rolls over to be on top of Sam.

A heady thrill races anew through Sam as his husband hovers over him. Above him Bucky is all sleep-warmed muscle, metal arm, long tangled hair, and the combined leftover musky scent of their lovemaking last night.

Dear god, five years hasn’t changed how much he loves being blanketed by his husband.

Sam grabs at Bucky’s broad shoulders and pulls him until they can mash their lips together in a mess of teeth clicking and tongues dancing and throats moaning. Bucky shoves his hips into the welcoming open cradle of Sam’s legs. He wastes no time in pressing his erection flush to Sam’s and rutting them against each other, smearing his ample pre-cum over the both of them.

At the contact, Sam pulls away from Bucky’s lips with a long, deep moan and lifts his hips to rut back against him. The sheets shift even more out of place as he lifts a leg to hook it around Bucky’s ass.

“Buck- _Buck_ , baby, yeah… _yeah_ …” He can feel more of that pre-cum coating more of their hips and stomachs. They’ll be dirty all over again before they know it and he can’t _wait_.

The sound of his husband’s pleasure nearly makes Bucky cum right then and there. But he forces himself to hold fast and busy himself with placing hot, open-mouthed kisses all along Sam’s neck and shoulder. At the same time, he loops one of his arms under the leg Sam has hooked over his hip and raises his leg up higher. It earns him a shudder of excitement from his husband. Sam turns his head to bare more of his neck to him and Bucky gladly takes the invitation.

Sam’s breath stutters as his hand reaches in-between them for Bucky’s cock where it’s still flush against his. He’s had enough teasing. Bucky jerks like an electric current passed through him as Sam firmly grips him around his shaft. Sam licks his lips in anticipation as he cants his hips upward to bring the head of Bucky’s erection to his entrance.

Bucky eagerly pushes his hips down to go where his husband wants him. He all but melts then and there at the hot, _tight_ luxurious velvet of Sam’s opening up against his cock. He pushes forward to engulf his head in the opening until-

“Oh wait, honey…” Bucky pulls back from Sam and then freezes over his husband.

Sam stops too and stares up at him. He lets go of Bucky’s shaft. “W-what’s wrong? Why’d you stop…?”

“I… _shit_ sweetheart, aren’chu sore? Outright hurting?” Concern overtaking lust makes that Brooklyn drip like molasses through Bucky’s mouth. “We wen’…over 4 times last night. You don’ heal as fast as me and I don’t want you in pain. So y’want me to stop? I’m so sorry, I should’ve-”

Sam cuts him off with a kiss. Bucky stays frozen save for returning the kiss.

When Sam breaks away, he warmly replies, “I’m a little sore. But not hurting. And no, don’ think I need any more lube down there. Still feeling pretty…damp. An’ it’s just fine.”

“But you’re sure-”

“We got ibuprofen an’ I’ll let you know if I need you to stop. I always do. Jus’ like you always tell me if you want to stop. Remember?”

Bucky chews his lip. “…I remember. So long as you promise?”

“I promise.”

Bucky’s eyes bore into Sam’s before he dives in for another searing kiss. He presses forward again and Sam invitingly opens his legs even wider. As soon as the throbbing head of Bucky’s erection once more touches at the velvety heat of Sam’s entrance, Sam once more cants his hips up to encourage him on. Over their bodies, breaks out a fresh new sheen of sweat through the dewy dryness of the sweat from last night as Bucky continues penetrating.

And the ring of Sam’s muscles are still largely relaxed and perfectly slicked from the night before. The weeping head of Bucky’s erection adds even more lubrication, making the ride for both of them just right. Bucky enters easily and smoothly with a _slish_ and a _splish_. He sinks in all the way to the hilt, slipping in smooth like honey. Sam’s channel flutters and clenches around Bucky even as he throbs inside Sam with each inch forward. As soon as they’re fully joined yet again, they share a long, deep groan of pleasure. The sheen of sweats grows heavier on their bodies.

Sam eyes flutter closed as he lies back against their bed and hitches his leg higher up his husband’s hip. Dear god, it’s the perfect morning for him to be splayed out under his husband, to be _full_ to the brim with his husband. Absolutely perfect. He feels only the barest twinge of discomfort around Bucky’s girth, but the pleasurable, familiar stretch more than overshadows it.

Bucky in turn loves the feeling of being engulfed, being ensconced in his Sam. He’s utterly surrounded by Sam’s warmth; deeply pleasured by his tightness. His shaft is in the best tortuous heaven of Sam’s silken, molten heat grasping tightly at him. The leg around his hip only anchors him even deeper and he can’t complain. And always wanting to be careful, he starts with rocking his hips instead of outright thrusting. He can feel the head of his erection pressing against Sam’s prostate with each rock and they share another groan.

“…Honey, you feel _so_ good… _ahh_ …” Sam moans.

Bucky leans down to nuzzle his nose against Sam’s. “Yeah, baby. You feel good? Wanchu t’feel good. That’s the best thing-so, so good…” He keeps rocking his hips slow and steady.

Sam nuzzles back. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. Insistently he pushes his hips down onto the rocking erection inside of him, creating yet another _slish_ sound between them.

Bucky’s lips trail a path over from Sam’s lips, over Sam’s jaw, and then down to his neck and shoulder. From there, he whispers. “Y’ready, hon?”

Sam lifts a hand from Bucky’s back to bury in his husband’s hair, holding him to his neck. “Yes. _Please_.”

With nothing more said, Bucky pulls away briefly to rearrange some of the scattered pillows behind Sam so his head doesn’t pound against their headboard. He then hooks his arm under the leg Sam has over his hip and brings it even higher; he loops the fingers of his metal hands with Sam’s and brings their joined hands up to rest next to Sam’s head. In the next second Bucky plants his lips on his husband’s, pulls his hips back, and thrusts in. With each slam of his hips into his husband’s, the head of his erection hits home perfectly against Sam’s prostate. Sam whole body jerks and he cries out in pleasure against Bucky’s lips.

The breath stutters in Sam’s lungs with each thrust and he lifts his hips to meet each one. His hands grasp at his husband and his feet curl. Beneath his hand wrapped around Bucky’s shoulder, he can feel his heavy muscles coil and uncoil with effort to stay gentle and it only heightens Sam’s arousal. With every in-and-out, in-and-out of Bucky’s hips into his, more and more of that fountain of pre-cum makes Sam wetter and messier, allowing them to go even faster and he _loves_ it. The rich brown of his irises are hazy, the pupils blown wide with desire.

They reluctantly leave each other’s lips to breathe through their mutual ecstasy. Bucky’s metal hand lets go of Sam and reaches in-between them to grasp at Sam’s erection. It bounces between them with each thrust, the head curling and uncurling towards Sam’s abs. He rubs his hand ‘round and ‘round in thorough circles across his shaft, paying special attention to Sam’s weeping, throbbing head.

Sam’s eyes roll back and his head slumps back against the pillows. “Oh my… _god_. _Ahh…_ ”, he breathes.

“You’re so- _fuck_ \- perfect an’ beautiful, baby”, Bucky breathes right back. He cups and massages Sam’s balls, loving how they’re heavy and drawn tight against his body with arousal. “You really are. _Goddamn._ Y’know that? D’you know that…?”

By some miracle Sam manages to find enough breath and remember how words work to plead, “Don’… _shit_. Don’t stop. Please, please, _please_ don’t stop…”

“Never, baby…never…” If anything, Bucky’s hips only speed up. His hand moves in faster, tighter circles on Sam’s shaft.

Sam’s hips speed up in kind until their bodies are slick, desperate pistons against each other. That sheen of sweat on their bodies now becomes a thick sheet. As they go faster, the sheets rustle; the pillows whisper; and the mattress creaks beneath them. They can feel their heartbeats pounding in their erections, pounding in staccato as they bring each other closer and closer to completion. Their moans and groans, higher and more frequent, fill the airy space of their bedroom.

Every muscle in Sam’s body begins seizing as he starts to come apart under his husband. Both of his legs are fully hitched high up around Bucky’s hips now and his heels dig into his lower back; his hand slip and grasp for purchase on Bucky’s sweat-soaked upper back, while the other grips Bucky’s metal hand for dear life. His head digs back against the arranged pillows under his head, nearly scattering them anew.

Bucky needs every ounce of self-control not to cum first at the sight of Sam’s heightening pleasure. He focuses on keeping the steady, rapid fire rhythm of his hips into his husband’s. Each throb of his cock is harder than ever and thunders straight down to his balls; he throbs in answer to the increased fluttering and clenching of the meltingly hot velvet channel around him as Sam gets closer and closer. His hand slips up Sam’s shaft to draw tight, precise circles around his head. At the same time, he angles his hips higher for a better pleasurable assault against his husband’s prostate.

Sam can hardly breathe, let alone think. “Buck- _Buck_. C’mon, c’mon, _c’mon_ …!”

He writhes under his husband and sucks in air that he can barely exhale back out. Less than half a dozen thrusts and climax erupts through his body. In-between their bodies his cock swells and jerks in Bucky’s hand and splashes white onto them both.

For Sam there's nothing else in the world but the point where his husband's body joins with his. The other man’s name leaves him on a sharp cry that resounds through their bedroom. Blinding white light flashes behind his eyes. Every muscle in his body seizes and contracts and he holds onto his husband to be anchored through with the mind-numbing pleasure. His channel spasms and clenches tight around the rock hard cock inside him.

And with his husband’s completion, Bucky lets his own orgasm rip through his body like a taut cable finally allowed to snap and break. He cries out Sam’s name too. Sam is now such a tight vise around him that it’s only the ample lubrication from both of them that lets him continue to thrust. He moves his hips in shorter bursts as he empties and empties himself. There’s soon the usual fountain of mess inside Sam. It overflows and spills out between them, getting both them and their bed newly drenched.

Bucky collapses atop his husband and Sam tiredly but happily wraps trembling arms around his shoulders. Their heartbeats come down in unison. The only sounds in the room are their ragged breaths; the air around them is heavy with the renewed pungent scent of sweat and sex. And their sheets are even more mussed than before while two of their pillows somehow tumbled to the floor in the midst of their lovemaking. Post-coital bliss gently rocks through their bodies like a supernova coming down from its initial explosion. 

Sam is the first to catch his breath enough to speak. “Well, that one was…”

“Yeah. Uhh…yeah”, Bucky quietly agrees. He snuggles his head over Sam’s chest so he can better hear his heartbeat.

They lay together quietly for a while longer, basking in each other's presence. Sam buries his hands in his husband's hair, running his fingers through the sweat-dampened strands; Bucky gently helps Sam loosen his legs from around his lower back and lay them more comfortably on either side of him and back on the mattress.

Through both of their minds runs the myriad of things they need to spend the weekend doing. The cleaning and organizing of the chaos of their bedroom will take both all of this Saturday and tomorrow Sunday. Family and friends have surely left them at least a dozen calls that they'll have to return. Sure as _hell_ they will be washing their king-sized linen, complete with using two dryer sheets.

And there's also the teeny, tiny issue of the fact that of all the souvenirs they've bought and all the gifts they've been gifted...Sam and Bucky have yet to give each other their anniversary gifts.

It'll be wonderful to once again just be at home together, working side by side in their home. But goodness, neither of them really knows where to even start.

The mutual growling of their stomachs answers that question for both of them. They share a chuckle.

"...So", Bucky starts. "How 'bout breakfast and then clean up everything?"

Sam lifts his head to drop a kiss on Bucky's hair. "Or better yet: how 'bout _us_ clean up first, then breakfast, and then clean everything else?"

"Good idea. You're so smart, Wilson-I knew I married you for a reason."

"Aww, thanks, Barnes. An' you're way ahead of me-I'm still figuring out what the hell I married you for.”

Bucky snickers and then lifts himself up from the other man's chest. He braces himself on his arms as he lowers his head down to plant a slow drugging kiss on Sam's lips. Sam buries his hands deeper in his hair and returns it.

They pull away and Bucky softly says, “I love you.”

Sam brushes his hands over Bucky’s hair. “I love you, too.”

“C’mon then, sweetheart. Let’s go get clean.”

“Ditto!”

Bucky slips his softened cock out of Sam with a quiet _plop_ between them and then he helps his husband out of the bed.

Sam winces at the slight burn in his ass and the twinge in his back as Bucky helps him up.

“Ibuprofen now?” Bucky asks, eyes riveted on Sam’s wince and the way his thigh muscles tense.

Sam just smiles at him. “After breakfast, honey.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Cool. Now lean on me while we get to the shower.”

Sam huffs, “Babe-”

“Thank you, ‘M _so_ glad you agree. And since you agree with me, I thought you were gonna put your arm around my back?”

Sam huffs yet again and rolls his eyes affectionately. “Yes Buck, I was gonna do jus’ that.” He does indeed do as his husband asks, putting his arm around his middle back.

With that, Bucky wraps a good, firm arm around the small of Sam’s back. Together they stand to walk slowly through their bedroom’s maze of messes and into their adjoining bathroom. Sam leans into the warm strength of his husband’s side even as he manages to stay steady on his own feet.

A step around the gigantic pile of dirty clothes and they’re in their bathroom. Bucky only slightly disengages from Sam to turn on the shower.

Bucky’s voice sounds softly over the warming shower. “How d’you feel, honey…?”

“I’m good. Watch”, Sam replies. He keeps close to Bucky as he steps first one foot and then the other into the tub.

Bucky’s arm stays around the other man and his eyes are riveted on his husband’s slow, careful steps. He doesn’t miss how much of his own cum dribbles and slides down the inside of Sam's thighs. The sight would usually spark Bucky’s arousal anew. But Bucky instead focuses on closely watching for any red or pink mixed in the congealing white mess. He lets loose a breath when he sees none.

Husband and husband fully step into the warm shower together. They each take a washcloth in hand to lather up their favorite softly-scented Ivory soap. With soapy, sudsy hands, they begin washing each other. Bucky starts in smooth circles over Sam’s chest; Sam starts tenderly going up and down Bucky’s metal arm.

And every time they bathe together, Sam always pays special attention to Bucky’s metal arm. The Hydra fuckers designed the metal to not hold onto let alone accumulate dirt and oil like skin does; it otherwise functions neither better or less when soap is applied. But even long before their marriage when they would bathe together, Sam has insisted on washing Bucky’s metal arm just as gently and thoroughly as his flesh arm. He’s done this so many times that he’s adept at keeping the washcloth from accidentally snagging on the many interlocking joints.

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed in pleasure as Sam runs the washcloth in circles over his metal shoulder. Then down and around over his triceps and biceps. Over and under his forearm. Down on his hand and in-between each fingers. And back up to his shoulder to start again.

He rinses off Bucky’s metal arm, and then Bucky re-lathers his washcloth and gently guides his husband to turn around. He complies and Bucky sets in on half-cleaning, half-deep massaging the sore muscles of Sam’s back. Sam all but melts into their shower wall under the combination of the warm water and his touch-they really did go hard both last light and this morning. And even outside of the passion of their love life, it’s been many a time when Bucky would do this for him after a long, long day of him carrying the Falcon wings while Avenging.

“That good?” Bucky quietly asks.

“ _Yes_ ”, Sam breathes. “Get my…shoulders and middle back again, please?”

“Sure, of course.”

Sam’s back feels so much better by the time he turns back around. Husband and husband continue washing each other. The refreshing scent of soap and warm water rises through their bathroom; it soon wafts through their bedroom, the heady scent of sweat and sex steadily being replaced by the light cleanliness of Ivory.

Another mutual growl of their stomachs has them hurrying to rinse themselves off and then move onto washing each other’s hair. They each squeeze a generous amount of the other man's shampoo into their hands and then work it into a generous lather atop each other's heads. Bucky makes sure to scrub his nails through Sam's tight curls to get at his scalp; Sam makes sure to work his hands from Bucky's roots to his ends. Conditioner is next, and with one final rinse they're fresh and clean.

Sam and Bucky steal kisses and "accidental" touches while toweling each other off. They head naked back into the chaos of their bedroom for comfy lounging clothes. It's back into the bathroom to stand side-by-side in the mirror to shave and brush their hair. Sam neatly trims his goatee to his preferred shape; Bucky shaves down his scruff to his usual simple 5 o'clock shadow. Sam rubs his favorite Sweet Georgia Brown pomade into his hair and then brushes it in; Bucky shakes his hair out, brushes it back, and then puts it in a ponytail.

They smile at each other in the mirror.

In their kitchen, though there are still some gifts and souvenirs that need to be put away, it’s mercifully not nearly as much a goddamn mess as their bedroom. Their dining table is largely clear of clutter; they can see the clear surface of more of their island counter than not.

After five years, it’s rote, comfortable memorization of movements as they begin their morning. Bucky turns on the news on the TV and sets it to mute while Sam goes to their stereo to put on Nat King Cole’s _Unforgettable_. They barely bump into each other as Bucky then gets the griddle out for omelets and Sam gets out the waffle iron for the fluffiest stack he can make. The cutting board and knife are out for the fruit bowl; the coffee pot brews some of their new Italian coffee beans; chicken is brought out to be diced; and the juicer has a few oranges thrown next to it.

Sam soon pours mix onto the sizzling-hot waffle iron beside his husband who beats and beats eggs with super soldier speed. The sizzling increases as Sam sets the lid down to let the waffles cook. Next Sam is making the orange juice while Bucky dices chicken for the omelets. The scent of coffee mingles with the sweetness of the waffles and the clanging of their kitchen appliances mingles with the soothing baritone of the King and it’s _home_.

With a soft sigh, Sam slides over from his part of the counter to stand flush behind his husband and wrap his arms around him. He links his fingers together over Bucky’s abs, which feel solid and heavy even through his navy blue muscle shirt. Sam closes his eyes and snuggles his head down on Bucky’s metal shoulder; he feels the other man’s warmth through his shirt, feels him breathe slow and deep. Five years of marriage and still resting against Bucky’s back is one of the places feels the warmest and safest.

Five years of marriage and Bucky can feel no better, no more whole than when Sam’s arms are around him.

Bucky turns his head slightly away from sautéing bell peppers and onions that’ll go with the chicken for the omelets. He presses a kiss to Sam’s head and whispers, “By the way…I forgot something this morning. Sorry in advance.”

Sam gives a cheeky grin. “We ain’t even had breakfast yet and you already have something to apologize for? Whatchu do this time…?”

“I forgot to say ‘hi’ this morning. Let alone ‘good morning’. So…hi and good morning to you, Wilson.”

Sam’s cheeky grin only widens. “Hi and good morning to you, too, Barnes.”

Less than an hour and they sit down to enjoy their breakfast spread together on the clear parts of their dining room table. Lady Ella croons _Summertime_ from the stereo and the news has been switched to Saturday morning cartoons. Bucky adds extra syrup to his waffles while Sam dutifully washes down 2 ibuprofens with orange juice.

In-between bites of omelet Sam gives Bucky a sip of his coffee.

Bucky pulls back from the mug’s rim with a scrunched up nose.“ _Euughhh_ , Wilson. Too much sugar…too much damn sugar!”

“Screw you, Barnes. You wouldn’ know good coffee if it landed on your head.”

Bucky in turn gives Sam a bite of his Belgian waffles.

It’s Sam’s turn to make a face around the fork. “…I can’t to tell what it tastes like ‘cause it’s smothered in syrup. Barnes, you’ve officially fed your husband _syrup_ off a _fork_. Congratulations.”

Bucky sticks his tongue out. “Now screw _you_ -that was the only proper way to eat a waffle."

“No, it wasn’t-that was just an alternate way to drink syrup without sticking a straw in the bottle itself.”

Just as they finish their breakfast, they look at each other and remember…their anniversary gifts to each other. Sam immediately jumps up, a shy smile on his face. 

“Imma go first!”

Bucky nearly chokes on a bite of waffle. “Wha-why?!”

Sam is already moving back to their bedroom as he calls out, “‘Cause I’m so damn nervous that you won’t like it, so I want to get it over with first!”

“What, you don’t think _I’m_ nervous, too?” Bucky pouts. “What if you don’ like mine after you gimme yours?!

Sam comes back from digging in one of their dressers for the wrapped gift. He beams at his husband. “I know we’re both nervous and, as far as your gift to me, all you gotta do is look in the mirror.”

Bucky blushes and can’t help the warmth that suffuses him.

“Alright, here we go…” Sam sets the wrapped gift down in front of his husband.

The wrapping paper is a rich cerulean with thin gold stripes.Topping the gift box is a curly, intricate gold bow. It’s a medium-sized box, nice and weighty when Bucky picks it up.

Bucky gulps as he pulls the wrapping off his gift. “Thanks, baby. Shit, the wrapping paper is beautiful all on its own…”

And inside is a brown cardboard box with the name of custom music box company on it. Curious and excited, Bucky pulls open the cardboard box to reveal a bubble-wrapped music box.

Bucky can all but feel Sam holding his breath in front of him as he slowly, carefully pulls the music box out of its layers and layers of protective bubble wrap. When it’s released, Bucky holds it in both of his hands with breathless reverence. Its color is an even deeper, richer cerulean than the gift wrap, so much so that its color is brighter than the clear morning sky outside.

On its domed top and bottom is a gold-painted carnation made up of petals upon petals layered atop each other. Even the four little legs it stands on each have a teeny golden leaf.

And on the sides of the music box, the blue is the background to the intricate, colorful artwork of rows of windows side-by-side, each showing different people in different events from...from their wedding. Bucky turns it ‘round and ‘round in his hands to get a look at the little people in each little window. There’s his mother-in-law, Darlene Wilson, decked out in her coral Sunday dress complete with hat and bright red lipstick on her smiling face; she’s in mid-shoulder swing as she dances. There’s Sam’s sisters mid-bumping hips during the dance and laughing. So many of Sam’s nieces and nephews in their rainbow-colored dresses and tuxedos joyfully throwing carnations (everywhere _except_ the aisle); Nick Fury regally toasting; more of Sam’s nieces and nephews eating cake and getting some of it on their outfits; and Steve and Nat grinning over champagne flutes.

It’s just about everyone close to them that was in their wedding.

The story of their wedding.

And there’s a tiny detachable rose gold key that’s inserted into the side of the music box.

With a trembling hand, Bucky winds the key around a few times. The domed top slowly lifts and up rises are two miniature figures of Sam and Bucky in their wedding tuxedos, dancing arm-in-arm. The platform under their feet is covered in yet more carnations, just like the actual dance floors were at their wedding. A twinkling, soothing lullaby sounds as Sam and Bucky go ‘round and ‘round.

Save for the man standing across from him, James Buchanan Barnes can’t say he’s ever seen something so beautiful. 

Bucky blinks back tears. “Oh… _sweetheart_ , it’s perfect. You have no idea…”

Sam swallows heavily. His voice is quiet, hesitant. “I...you always talk about how I help you with your nightmares and with the nights you can’t sleep.”

“But we both know I have my fair share of nightmares and sleepless nights, too”, Sam continues. “And…you soothe and comfort me more than you know; you help me feel safe and protected more than you know. For five short years, you always have.”

“So I thought that when you have those nights an’ I can’t be there because I’m working, Avenging or whatever…if you want, this will both remind you that you gave me one of the happiest days of my life and it will take my place ‘till I can come back to you.”

“Thank you, Samuel Thomas”, Bucky breathes. “ _Thank you_.”

The music stops and Bucky sets it on the table. He stands suddenly and pulls up his sweatpants. “Alrigh’, lemme go get mine before I jump onto you and…yeah.”

“Yeah”, Sam sniffles.

Bucky runs into their study and into the third top drawer of their desk. He comes back to the table, where Sam has sat back down waiting for him.

“Okay, y’know what…?” Bucky clutches his husband’s gift in his hands. “Before we even got on the damn cruise, I probably wrote down what I was gonna say about 15, 20 times. And I tore all that shit up even more times…”

Sam blinks. “W-what? Honey, why’d you try to write _anything_ down just to give me an anniversary gift…?”

“‘Cause I thought I was intelligent enough for it, but…well, fuck it.”

Sam’s blinking turns into a bashful eye roll as Bucky gets down on one knee in front of him.

“ _Barnes_ , we’re tryna not to cry just yet-”

“Shuddup.” Bucky rolls his eyes right back. “I did this right the first time after I got your mother’s permission for your hand, so I’ll do it right again after hitting a 5-year milestone.”

Sam obligingly falls silent.

Bucky takes a deep, deep breath and starts. “Every single day of my life, I have and still do regret those 70 years wherein I…I wasn’t myself and I did the most terrible things.”

“But knowing that I’ve been brought to you, who would have me despite it all…I don’t regret it any less, but the most amazing, impossible gratitude takes up more and more room in my heart every day. I know you and so many others have told me otherwise, but whether yesterday, today, or tomorrow…I know I do not deserve you.”

“I _can_ believe, though, that I’m at least capable of the chance to try to prove that I deserve you for the rest of our lives and beyond”, Bucky continues.

“So…” Bucky holds the wrapped gift out to his husband, proffering it. “Samuel Thomas Wilson-Barnes…will you please accept this anniversary present from your husband, as you once accepted my engagement ring?”

Neither Sam’s eyes nor face are dry as he nods and accepts the offered gift. Bucky’s eyes and face are not much better off.

The gift in Sam’s hands is a small rectangle in stark red wrapping paper topped with a chunky silver bow. Opening up the wrapping paper reveals a stately black velvet box. Sam’s heart thuds in his throat as he lifts the box’s lid.

Inside is even more stately black velvet, upon which lays a set of bright sterling silver dog tags on a sterling silver chain. Sam’s hand trembles as he lifts them up out of the box for closer inspection. He holds it close to his eyes to read the engraving, though in his heart he already knows it is and what it will say.

It’s an exact replica of his husband’s dog tags from when he was first drafted in 1942.

Sam turns them over and over in his hands. His eyes are mesmerized as the chain and tags themselves catch and reflect the bright shine of the morning sun through the windows.

“Getting those tags…was the first of a long, long road to me eventually getting to you”, Bucky says quietly. He swallows down more tears. “It’s a part of my past that I cannot change but, like I said, I can never regret being able to get to you. Every time I look at you, you’re a mark of my future that’s bright and shiny…just like that sterling silver.”

Sam clutches the dog tags to his heart, tears streaming down his face. “ _Yes_ ”, he breathes. “Yes, James Buchanan, I accept. With my whole heart I accept these.”

They stand together and Bucky puts the dog tags around Sam’s neck.

And then they’re clasping each other in the middle of their dining room, the rest of their breakfast going cold and music still wafting from the kitchen. Their lips mash together in passion borne of five years and then it’s a tight, tight hug around each other, rocking together.

“I do love you, Sam”, Bucky whispers against his neck. “I love you so, _so_ much. Thank you.”

Sam snuggles his head against Bucky’s. “And I love you too, Bucky. More than you know. And thank _you_.”

They can hardly wait for the next five years and beyond.

**Author's Note:**

> I about...had that music box and those dog tags as Sam and Bucky's anniversary gifts to each other for _years_. It brought tears to my eyes to finally write them gifting them to each other. I hope you all enjoyed that, too. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and, again, lemme know what you think!


End file.
